Chapter 59: Melody in the Music Room

I was now looking for Kenn to collect the promise he had agreed to. A promise that he had to fulfill three of my requests without the slightest refusal.

I could no longer contain my impatience to deliver the second request so that he would once again comply with my wishes. Every time my brain caught a signal of success from my crazy ideas, my enthusiasm always surged uncontrollably.

I ran toward the two cafeterias at school, but it was futile. He was nowhere to be seen. There was no way he had gone home because I saw that Kenn’s sport motorcycle was still in the school parking area.

“Damn. Really damn,” I muttered under my breath. “Where did that guy go? Just wait if he’s deliberately avoiding me.”

I had gone to the two cafeterias, the garden, the sports building, and even the library. The result was nothing. My ambition to collect the second request felt as if it had slammed into a concrete wall.

“A promise is a promise, Kenn. You can’t run,” I whispered full of ambition.

My steps stopped right in front of the music room. I leaned against the door, trying to regulate my racing breath. But just as I was about to turn around and leave, the sound of a piano greeted my ears. Very melodious, yet it felt so heavy.

“Who’s playing at a time like this?” I asked, more to myself.

I froze.

Driven by curiosity, I moved my face closer to the small gap in the door, peeking inside.

I saw his figure, though not his face directly. I watched fingers dancing very fluidly over the piano keys. The sound was so beautiful. I was mesmerized by his skillful fingers that felt gentle as they pressed the keys and created notes. It seemed to be a melancholic melody.

The longer I listened, the clearer the sorrowful lament hidden in the music became. Beautiful and melodious, yet painful. The flow of the music captured my attention, making me unwilling to move even a little from this spot.

“Who is he?”

Recklessly, I slowly turned the door handle.

The door opened slightly, but he did not turn around. He was too immersed in his own world.

The moment I saw the line of his jaw and his posture from the side, my heart felt as if it stopped beating.

“No way…,” I murmured softly. My eyes widened. “Is that him? Kenn?”

I could hardly believe it was him. He was the only person who had never crossed my mind when curiosity pushed me to enter this room. It felt so impossible.

How could someone who loved to yell at others, known for being rough and hot-tempered, be able to create such gentle melodies?

How could a guy like him play the piano so skillfully and with such deep emotion? I even found it hard to accept that the figure before me was truly real.

I blinked several times, hoping this was just a hallucination caused by exhaustion from searching. But no, it really was him.

He was Kenn.

Kenn sat in front of the piano, completely immersed in the music he was playing. He looked like a skilled musician. His playing was truly astonishing, very beautiful yet so sorrowful.

I felt that his facial expression was filled with deep pain and loneliness, in harmony with the music. He closed his eyes. His hands pressed the keys with calm movements, without seeming rushed, as if every note carried a meaning he wanted to release.

The sound of the music truly gave me chills because it was so heartrending. I was swept away in his performance, as if I were also feeling the sadness Kenn was experiencing. A pain that hurt deeply, regret that never faded, and profound loneliness, as if he lived alone in the darkness.

Without realizing it, my tears fell. I quickly wiped them away with the back of my hand.

“Why am I suddenly becoming emotional like this?” I muttered in annoyance.

If only I could be like Kenn, who was able to channel all his emotions and sorrow through notes. But I could not play any musical instrument at all. I could only keep those feelings to myself without any desire to share them with anyone else.

Unconsciously, the image of my parents who had abandoned me appeared just like that.

Trying to stay strong was something I always did. I acted cheerful and smiled sweetly in front of Grandma and Grandpa. Even though longing came to me again and again, that feeling could only last a few minutes before eventually turning into pain, a sense of worthlessness, an overwhelming resentment, and hatred that pierced deep into my heart.

There was once a time when I really wanted to look for them, but I immediately brushed that desire aside. I always planted it in my mind that I did not need them. I did not need parents who had the heart to abandon me.

They were cruel and did not deserve to be called parents. I hated them so much.

My tears flowed heavily again, in harmony with the notes that seemed to accompany my sadness at this moment. Anger and hatred melted into one, like Kenn’s piano melody that gradually grew louder.

I could feel that hatred as his hands moved quickly, as if flying with slightly rough touches. He was angry. He was hating something.

“What is this feeling? Why do I suddenly feel like I have something in common with Kenn? Does he also carry a heavy burden of problems?”

The last loud and lingering note ended everything. The room suddenly fell silent, leaving only a small sob that accidentally escaped my mouth.

“What are you doing here?”

That flat voice broke the silence. I flinched. Kenn was still sitting in front of the piano without looking at me.

“Since when can you play the piano?” I asked in a hoarse voice, ignoring his question.

I hurriedly wiped my tears with the back of my hand.

Kenn slowly turned around. His brow furrowed sharply when he saw my swollen eyes. I could only give a foolish grin to cover everything up.

He let out a long breath, then looked back at the piano keys. “Since I was seven years old,” he answered briefly.

“Seven years old? No wonder, your talent really can’t be doubted.” I murmured in awe.

“The way you played earlier ... that was incredible. You looked like a professional, Kenn. I mean, I never thought a guy like you could—”

“A guy like me?” Kenn cut me off.

He stood up and began to walk toward me, who was still frozen in front of the door.

His gaze locked onto my eyes. “You mean a rough guy who doesn’t have feelings?”

I fell silent, feeling struck.

Kenn stopped right in front of me. The cold scent of his perfume stabbed at my sense of smell.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said again in a more demanding tone.

Now it was my turn to furrow my brow. I tried to recall what he had asked earlier. “Answer what?”

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